Title: A Whore
Author/Artist: savannahsdead
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: After the war, Draco is presumed dead. Then Harry meets him in an alley.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine at all.
Possible Spoilers: None, I believe.
Warnings: Quite obviously, slash. Nothing else yet.
Archive: Anyone, feel free. Just let me know, please?
Notes: Comments are always a good thing.



Draco Malfoy was a whore.
When the war changed, so had a lot of things. Friends and enemies had been crushed, great momuments turned to rubble, people altered beyond recognition. These days, when Harry looked in the mirror, he could barely recognize himself. Not because he looked different: he had surprisingly few scars, still the same unruly black hair and small seeker's build (though he was surprisingly strong and muscled under his robes), but because he now seemed darker, dimmer. Instead of sparkling green eyes, his seemed to have dimmed with every death, every hardship and every heartbreak, until there was nothing left but murky pools of dark green like stagnant swamp water.
But Draco Malfoy was a whore. And this was something he hadn't expected.
Yes, a lot of people had thought that Draco Malfoy was not as bad as he seemed. It was just his father's influence, just a phase, just a show, they said. But there were no excuses for Malfoy's personality. He was a vindictive, awful git, and even worse than that, he was evil. Maybe not pure evil, but like a moth fluttering around the last dwindling flame in the overwhelming darkness, he wanted to be. And once he reached that flame and dropped into it, dove inside it with the addictive tang of power, it would be too late. Too late to salvage. Too late to repair. Too late to fly away free.
He had taken the plunge.
And Harry had thought that he had reached the flame. He had thought that Malfoy was killed in the fighting, like so many others, though no one he knew had ever seen Malfoy since he left Hogwarts at the end of fifth year.
And here Harry was, twenty two, young but with a mind nearly as old as that of Albus Dumbledore's. And here was Draco, kneeling not five yards away, blowing some random wizard in a shady alley at two in the afternoon.
His hair was unwashed and tangled, his clothes hung on him loosely, and his eyes were haunted, but it was unmistakably Draco Malfoy. And for a moment Harry felt a mix of jealousy and embarrassment, before he realized he was partially hidden by some rubbish bins, and neither man had noticed him yet.
Then the anger flowed in, cold, hard and palpable. But it was a childhood anger, and as he watched Malfoy's crimson lips moving up and down the rigid cock of his customer, slick with precome and spit, it was quickly overcome by lust. His boxers suddenly became too confining, and he watched Malfoy rythmically swallow, his Adams' apple bobbing. He wondered how much it would cost. He wondered how it would feel.
But no. He didn't want be just another face, didn't want to have to go home to his empty flat that night and see Malfoy's empty face in his mind, the cold eyes, blank and broken. Didn't want to leave Malfoy to this, no matter what he had done when they were both younger, what he probably did by Voldemort's side.
The yellowed hand in Malfoy's hair suddenly jerked him forward harshly, the spine snapping straight as the ungrateful urchin spewed into Malfoy's mouth. Harry was surprised that Malfoy didn't protest such degrading behavior, but he merely opened his mouth wider and waited.
The man eventually shoved himself back inside his robes and buttoned up, dropping a few coins at Malfoy's side with a sneer and a, "Fucking whore." Malfoy remained on his bony knees even after the man was out of sight, a thin stream of come dribbling from one corner of his mouth. Harry shifted slightly and Malfoy's head snapped up in his direction.
"Enjoy the show?", he sneered. His eyes were vindictive, biting.
"Quite", Harry replied, leaning into the brick wall behind him. A moment of shock registered on Malfoy's face.
"A lot of people changed in the war", Harry said, reading his mind. He left it unspoken that Malfoy was one of those people.
"So, Potter", he spat, "What do you want? A quick blow here in the alley? The show you just saw get you all hard and wet, did it?"
"No."
"Oh, I see", Malfoy said, "Nothing but the best for the famous Potter, is it? Want to take me to a proper bed and give me a good fuck? Or maybe I'm not good enough. Go fuck yourself Potter, if you can twist those ways. Maybe your own ass is almost good enough for you."
"Shut up, Malfoy. I don't want to fuck anyone."
"Your comebacks are biting as always, I see. What's the matter, lose some valuable part of your anatomy in the war? If you don't want to fuck, what do you want?"
Faster than Malfoy could track him, Harry moved, until he was right in front of Draco and they were barely an inch apart. Warmth radiated off Harry like the sun, but at the moment he looked nowehere near as warm or pleasant. Malfoy swayed and almost fell backwards in surprise. Harry grabbed his arm to keep him from falling, and to hold him there. The grip was bruising, but not overly so. A warning.
Harry's eyes flashed like switchblades, anger and annoyance.
"I told you to shut up, Malfoy", Harry said in a low, almost growling voice. His breath smelled like like dark, thick honey and teased Malfoy's lips as he spoke. "I don't give a fuck about my comebacks, and as you can see-" he stepped forward briefly, so the thick weight of his cock pressed into Malfoy, and then moved back again, "-none of the 'valuable parts of my anatomy' were lost in the war. The simple reason that I don't want to fuck right now, is that seeing the seed of that disgusting waste of air who has previously stuck himself in your throat, spewing out of the side of your mouth, is grotesque beyond imagination. The only thing keeping me going... are those lovely red lips of yours."
With his free hand, Harry raised his pinky finger to lightly trace Malfoy's lips. Faced with this black haired, green-eyed, altogether too intimidating Harry Potter, Malfoy could feel himself growing hard from the scents, the sounds, the tingly feeling of Potter tracing his lips.
And he tried to move back, but Potter increased his grip from warning to punishing. Malfoy winced, struggled, and snarled.
"Going to rape me now, Potter?", he hissed, and Harry wasn't, so he let Draco go.
Malfoy collected the coins on the ground at his feet, turned a little too quickly to be Malfoy-esque, and dissapeared into the gathering gloom of the ever darkening skies.
Harry might not be willing to rape Malfoy, but he wasn't going to let him go, either.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Comment? Yes? Be nice? =D